Cleaning Touch
by Little-Firestar84
Summary: 5.1. tag. After the case, Lisbon has to comfort Jane. Because she knows him. Despite what the official reports say, he feels guilty. Red John's escape, Luther's death, his family's murder, the target on her back, and even Lorelai. Because part of him feels bad for having allowed her to be his first one, even if it was a necessary evil and a mean to an end. M rated.


**Title:**Cleaning Touchh  
**Author:**Little_firestar84  
**Rating:** M  
**Characters:** Patrick Jane, Teresa Lisbon  
**Summary:** The Crimson ticked episode-tag_. After the case, Lisbon tries to comfort yet again with her soothing words Jane. Because she knows him. Despite what the official reports say, he feel guilty, no matter what. Red John's escape, Luther's death, his family's murder, and the target on her back... and Lorelai. Yes, there's a part of him that feels bad for having allowed her to be the first one, even if it was a necessary evil. _  
**Disclaimer:** Uhm. well, my father is called Bruno, but since it's Negro and not Heller, I'd say that I don't own the rights to the Mentalist.  
**Notes:**annual smut follow-up to season premiere! So.. beware spoilers!

* * *

She joins him in the attic, late at night. It's been a while since they've been back from the prison, and yet, he is still there, even after the long and odd hours of the travel. Even after hours and hours she spent talking with Bertram.

She hadn't know for sure he was there, and yet, she felt it. She had always felt it, with Jane. She knew when he was lying, when he was bothered, when he was suffering. Part of her would like to not feel it any longer, because those six months had been long and she had gone through hell in her mind and should because of him (and yes, even her body. Lack of sleep, no desire to eat, and the fear to turn into her father, prisoner of regrets and pain because of her feelings for a single person).

She doesn't say a word, just look at him. Jane stiffs, and yet, he doesn't seem to fully acknowledge her presence. His eyes are fixed on his wedding ring. He twists the metal around his finger, and she can see the rage. She sees his clenched teeth, the lines on his face, and she suddenly feels like forgetting all about everything, all the sufferance she has gone through lately because of him. She'd just like to run to him, and take him in her arms, telling him it will be all right.

But: it would be a lie. Nothing is all right. The six months really happened. Jane threw away his self-imposed celibacy to get Red John through Lorelai, and now she is gone. And Red John… Red John tried to get her head once, and now, because of Lorelai, he'll think that Jane is in love with her, and her life will be yet again in danger. There's probably never been a larger target printed on her back like right at this moment.

She takes a big breath when she realizes that Jane is that close to nervous breakdown, and that yes, he was so immerse in his mind, his world, maybe his memory palace, that he hasn't seen her yet. He saw how lost his eyes were when they left the jail, but right now is even worse. He is close to crying, probably torturing himself with memories of bloody smiley, butchered bodies and of a naked women he had to force himself to have sex with.

Part of her would like to leave. She knows Jane, and he is very private about his emotions. He'd never like for her to see him in such a state, but then again, for so many reasons, she can't just let it go, can't turn her back on him. Jane knows they are friends- because, despite what Lorelai thinks, that's how she knows he sees her – and she'll not abandon him, again. Part of her wonders if she'd gone to him before, if she'd pay bail when Grace told her about Vegas, of she had arrived there before Lorelai, maybe, just maybe….

But then again, he would have still gone to Lorelai, one way or another. After all, hadn't he told her that he had known since the first time he saw her that she was an accomplice of Red John? But maybe… maybe it's just another lie, another rouse. She doesn't know how to trust him any longer. She isn't sure if she'll ever be able to trust him again, fully.

She laughs a little, hysterically, shaking her head. Who is she kidding? Of course she'll end up trusting him yet again. If not with her mind, with her soul at least. After all, isn't that what he is a master at? He is a seducer, a charmer. He'll just have to charm his way back into her life, and sooner or later, even if she wouldn't him back, he'd take residence in her life yet again.

And fact is: she wants him back. Only, not like this. Because yes, Jane is back with his body, but now with his mind. All because of that woman, all because of a one night stand. All because he feels like there's blood on his hands- more blood- despite what he told the FBI and the judge.

"Jane?" she whispers his name in the semi darkness, slowly getting closer to him, like he was a doe hit by sudden lights. He hasn't broken the silence yet, and the atmosphere is heavy, with things said and then forgotten, secrets and regrets, all things now between them, a sword of Damocles on their heads. "Jane… it's not your fault." She suddenly says. She isn't even sure why. Nor what exactly she is talking about. Luther's death? Lorelei's disappearance? His night of passion with the accomplice of his enemy?

He laughs, hysterically, but it's quite evil, like he is mocking her. it's not the first time he does it, and yet, every time, it breaks her heart. Because every time he does so, he shows her he doesn't really see her. But maybe, this is the whole point of being translucent instead of transparent.

"And what exactly wouldn't be my fault, Lisbon? Please, enlighten me." he tells her as he stands, slowly reaching her. He corners her, backing her in a corner. She shivers, a little scared, because Jane can be scary when Red John is concerned. He also breaks her heart, each word, like a dagger in her flesh. " Are you talking about my family's murder? Or is it Wainwrights' death? The fact that I…. that I allowed _her _hands on me? that I broke my promise for….for that woman just to get nothing in return? Or are we talking about what I've done to _you? _The fact that I made you feel bad for six, long months? That I lied to you? That he thinks that I love you and now he has put a target on your back.?"

He hisses the last words, and has to close her eyes against the onslaught of sensations, against the coldness of his hot breath on her neck. It's freezing in hell.

"I'm a target because I work the case" she whispers, her eyes focused on the ground.

Yet again, he laughs at her, because he knows what she is thinking about. She is thinking about Sam Bosco, and the fact that her and Jane hated each other. But she can't see what is obvious to Red John. The maniac killed the cop for more than one reason. He wanted the case back into Jane's hands, to show the higher ups what happens when he isn't dealing with the case, and also, he wanted, in some kind of sick way, his way of asking for his friendship. After all, if Red John thinks that he is in love with Lisbon, he also thinks that Bosco was competition, and by killing him, he gave Jane back Lisbon.

"He targeted you all because he knows that I care about you. I told you that bad things happen to people who is too close to me, and you didn't believe me. And now? One of these days we'll get an anonymous tip that will send us to another bloody smiley and to the body of the first woman I slept with after my wife!"

"Jane, we are cop, we are always targets, we've been his targets since…."

"I KNOW, DAMMIT!" He screams hitting with his clenched fists the wall near her head. She jumps a little, taken aback by his sudden display of rage: he has never been like that before. His calm craziness, almost sensed, at least in his eyes, had been what had scared her before, but now… Gulping a mouthful of saliva, she dares to look at him, and all she sees are silent tears, and fear, and frustration.

"I know you are always in danger, and it's bad enough. But knowing that it could be because of me…." he shakes his head, giving up masking his pain, his memory filled by images of Lisbon, Hardy pointing a gun at her, with a bomb on her body, hit by a bullet while she was talking with him over the phone, and then… then, a madman asking for her head, asking him to kill her in cold blood. All because of Red John. And all because of him. because his mouth had signed a check he couldn't pay, and someone had to pay for him.

And now, almost ten years later, someone still does. Her.

He cries, and allows his forehead to touch hers, their noses skimming their respective skin. He stands still, just his breath on her, sniffing. It takes a while for her to takes the courage, but when she does, she does what he did in her office just few days before, and takes him in her arms. But… it's the same, and yet different, because if she had been quite awkward in her answer to him, he holds her like she was a treasure, like he was scared of losing her. He let himself getting submerged by her whole being, he is engulfed by her whole essence, and they melt into each other.

She draws invisible patterns on the fabric of his vest, and, without even realizing it, after a while of being embraced, just like that, she starts leaving butterfly kisses on the skin of his face, raw under her soft touch. She feels his taking a big breath, and fears for a moment that she has scared him away, but when she lifts her head, their eyes meet, and his pupils are dark and dilated. She gulps, and blushes, trembling from head to toes, not out of fear but overwhelmed by a sudden feeling she isn't sure she feels ready to label.

She just knows that when he lowers his head and starts kissing her, she just answers. She becomes a willing participant, and when he trails her lips with the tip of his tongue, she opens for him. a lazy kiss suddenly turns into a serious affair, still slow, but passionate. There' nothing friendly about the way their tongues interlaces, and yet… she can't help wonder _why. _Is it because now that he has remembered what it feels like he desires comfort in the form of sex? Is she just a replacement or maybe… Maybe, she asks herself, dares to hope, he meant it. Maybe he does love her, after all.

"I just… it was for nothing…" he suddenly says, parting from her, yet again his forehead against her own. But this time, they are eyes in the eyes, and with desire, she can see regrets. Regrets for Lorelai, for what he did with her. "it should have been important, and yet…. It was all for nothing. I'm so sorry, Lisbon… I'm so…"

She shushes him with a finger on his lips- which he kisses at closed eyes – and then, on tip toes, she skims on his lips with her own, the softest touch, the sweetest thing. She looks at him adoringly, cupping his face, a whisper of distance between their faces. "Did you make love to her? Do you have feelings for her?"

"It was… just sex.. and I had to force myself to… but still, I still…"

She shushes him yet again, smiling, her eyes teary. "Do you love me?" his answer is a sad smile, almost shy. "Then… it can still matter, Jane. Let's make it matter. " she kisses slowly and sweetly him yet again, and her hands start travel a dangerous, yet exiting, path, unbuttoning shirt and vest, and making them fall on the carpet, very, very slowly, her caresses on his skin burning like liquid fire.

She skims over his taunt stomach with her fingernails, and he hisses. It's terrible for him, for passions like this, he hasn't felt it in a long, long time. And still, he craves her touch, for he knows that it's what we'll clean him, purify him body and soul after the siren's touch.

"Teresa…" he whispers as she works on his belt, reverently. "Teresa…. I love you…."

"I know" she answers. She kisses him again, and takes advantage of his distraction to lower his pants and underwear in a single move. He gasps in surprise, and Teresa, instead, just grins: he is hot and bothered against her clothes, more than ready to have a go at her.

She backs him against the makeshift bed, and forces him to sit, and slowly and sensually, she undresses for him, like she was a goddess of the striptease: he smiles when, under her conservative clothes, she reveals a dark green silk, black lace, push up bra, completed by its own tong. In the semi darkness of the room, she looks like some kind of apparition, and the contrast with her pale skin it's stunning, like it's stunning how two pieces – scraps, actually- of fabric can complement her eyes so much, making them shine just so much more. Or maybe… it's just because they are here, right now, right here, finally being honest, giving up to themselves like they should have a long time ago. Or at least, in the warehouse of Vegas.

Her hands start to tremble when she feels his eyes of her, and she feels suddenly shy, or stupid. She isn't even sure Jane actually wants her, even if the evidence is right before her eyes, in the form of his huge, hard, cock, already oozing precum for her.

He laughs, but this time happy (even if there's still a hint of sadness in his eyes) and stands in front of her. his erection skims the skin of her stomach, and when he touches her with soft fingernails dancing on her, she feels at the same time shivers and touched by the flames of hell, burned by the simplest touch. He simply tugs on her panties, letting them fall on the ground, and the, never breaking eye contact, he goes for the clasp of her bra, slowly removing it, letting it fall as well, yet another piece of clothes on the cold stone under their feet.

With his hands, he skims over her whole body, slowly going to sit on his knees; with a smile pasted on his lips, her kisses, tenderly, one, two, three times her going, the skin soft and completely bare, ready to his exploration. He can feel her heat, can smell her desire in the air. She's already be ready for him, but it's not time yet. Before making her crazy, he wants to make her happy, satisfied in the glorious afterward of passion.

"Jane…." she whispers, her hands holding his head. Her fingers run on his scalp, massaging his curls, feeling them. she doesn't know if she should blush or giggle, for she had dreamt so much about it!

Laughing under his breath, against her groin, he opens her up to his intrusion with his fingers, and then he lets his tongue claiming her. he takes his time exploring her, moaning, lost in the sensual pleasure that's it's Teresa Lisbon's wetness, her liquid arousal.

"Jane….Mmm…." she purrs. She pushes him closer to her, and he does as she wishes. He starts to make love to her with his tongue, soon adding his fingers into the mix. He sucks on her clit, sometimes he kisses it (_French _kisses it, actually), and when he does so, he thrusts in and out of her with his fingers; then he stops, and claims her with his tongues, a slow, sensual exploration, while his thumb presses on her most sensitive nerves.

"Ja...Ja….Ja…." she stutters, unable to say his name. it's too much, and it feels like an eternity. An eternity since he started, an eternity since last time she had felt that way with a man.

Butterflies fly in her stomach. One, two, three, then thousands and thousands, and then… she explodes. All kind of lights appear right before her eyes, like s supernova exploding, destroying everything so that something new could come to life, and it's what happens to her. She stops kidding herself as she comes biting her lips to not scream. She has been in love with Jane for a long time, and one orgasm just changed her life forever. From now on, her life will be before she belonged to Patrick Jane and after.

He slows up his movements to guide her out of her high, until he is just lazily lapping at her core, no more drinking her. He got everything she had provided, and even more. Along with her juices, he took a piece of her soul. Like he didn't already have plenty of them.

They part, and their eyes meet. His lips are glistening with her essence, and giggling, she tenderly skims over his huge, taunt skin with a feet, eyeing it with intent. He takes her feet, and massages it, shaking his head laughing. She looks at him, almost disappointed, but this whole silence thing, she has to admit, it's proving rather…funny and erotic.

He stands, and laughing like an happy idiot, carefree like he had never been in a long time, her grabs her, and lifts her in the air. She ends up on his shoulders, so tiny. He feels sorry for a while- she is so tiny, weight so little because she had lost appetite because she had been death worried for him for six, long months- but at least he gets to do something so… so cave-man style.

Being in contact with his inner male can really be good. especially if at the receiving end of his attentions there's a Lisbon more than ready and primed for him.

"Jane! let it go of me! now!" she begs, like a crazy, mad, fussy child. Her tiny fists hit him on the back, and she even tries something with her feet, but to no avail. And that's when he understands that, just a little, she is enjoying playing the damsel in distress. If she would, he'd be dead by now, not only on the ground or with a broken nose. After all, there's no one who knows better than him Teresa's physical strength, having been at the receiving end of her fists so many times.

"As you wish!" he lets go of her, letting her fall on his makeshift bed. He immediacy regrets it, though, as she hisses a bit in pain. He hadn't thought that a piece of wood with a scrap of fabric to cover it isn't exactly the softest of the surfaces. But after all, he knows a very good way of making her forget all about the pain, and the sufferance she had endured for him, and because of him, since they met.

"Teresa…" eh whispers her name as a pray, as he lowers himself on top of her. he just nudges her core with his erection, his eyes never leaving hers. It's so beautiful. She is so open, so true. it feels like he has never really known her, until this very moment. It's like they had lived, gone through hell, just to reach this point. A real point of no return.

He nuzzles her skin, leaving butterfly kisses every now and there, everywhere he can reach. Her hands slide along his back, skim over his muscles. She scratches his back with her fingernails, and he hisses in pleasure. She burns him with her touch, but it's good. she is like disinfecting him with her touch, cleaning him after Lorelei's touch.

She was right: it can still be important. And it can still be his first time after so long. Lorelei doesn't have to matter. They do.

He nudges her core with his erection, and they both pant; he skims over her soft tissue, amazed by how wet she is. Still, he leaves ample precum on her, preparing her for his intrusion. He takes his time to savor the moment, and doesn't see that it's torture for her, for she has waited a long time for this. And she didn't even know it.

She garbs him for the ass, and pushes him towards her. He yelps, and she giggles against the skin of his neck, her soft laugher going all the way to his groin, just making him harder. Jane groans. He also knows that it will make harder holding it back, that it will make it so easier to give him to the temptation of just… letting it go.

They still for a moment, and, after a sweet, mind-blowing kiss, he starts to move inside of her. he can see the discomfort on her features, and yet, there's something else.

Pleasure and desire, clouding everything else. All for him, all because of him.

He takes her hard and fast right from the start, leaving every time almost completely the confines of her body just to enter her yet again. It' so hard, every time it gets harder. She is so tight, she is already tight on her own, and her core is already clenching around his shaft. The sucking motion of her muscles tries to stop him, to keep him engulfed in her heat, but every time he manages.

She doesn't even try to meet his movements. She stays in the same position, almost completely motionless, on the bed. She knows it would be pointless, Jane is too rough, too hard, fast, wild for her, to even think about matching him. she prefers behaving like a doll in his hands, the only indication she is alive, a human being, the rising and falling of her chest.

He feels his balls tightening, feels his erection getting harder, bigger if even possible, and he just knows. As soon as his release is just there, he buried his head between her breasts. He suffocates his scream between the full globes. He fills her with his essence, his seed covering her inside and even out, spilling everywhere on her legs and ass, on his body too, and he keeps coming, spouts after spouts, he bites a nipple, hard. She screams, and she comes as well, trembling inside and out.

They come down from their high together, and when he tries to get out, she doesn't allow him to, keeping him pressed against her a little bit longer, his cheek against her heart. He nuzzles her skin, tenderly, and she grins, smiles, happy, again drawing invisible pattern on his back, this time, though, clothes-less

Bracing himself on his forearm, he goes on level with her face, and he tenderly kisses her. he rolls them, him on his back, she on top of him, but this time, there's nothing sexual about it. he does what she has done to him until a minute before – rubs her back tenderly – and kisses her hair, inhaling her scent, vanilla, Lisbon, sweat and sex.

They don't need to say at loud what they think. Nobody can know, because it's already dangerous as it is for her. But they'll not lose this. This will be their little bubble, their secret, shared universe.

Until, one day, they'll be free, and she'll have a ring on her finger, to show the world who she belongs to. And that day, he'll make sure that it will come, sooner or later.


End file.
